


Misinformation

by sightofthesun



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, I'm not sorry, M/M, POV Outsider, lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:00:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sightofthesun/pseuds/sightofthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton and Elizabeth Schuyler, once married, now divorced, are still good friends.</p><p>Fifteen-year-old John Church Hamilton - or "JC," as he prefers to be called - is less than thrilled to be spending two weeks of his summer vacation at his dad's place in DC.</p><p>Alexander is just trying to find a way to tell his son that he's been in a relationship with JC's "uncle" Laurens for several years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misinformation

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! Another outsider POV fic! What a surprise!!!!!!!!
> 
> So I originally intended to publish this as a 5k oneshot but whoops looks like that's not happening. I had a lot of fun writing Alex as a dad because he's SUCH a dad let's be real here.
> 
> Any and all (important) French will be translated in the end notes. If you don't understand it while reading do not fret because JC doesn't understand either lol.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

So here’s the thing.

JC (which he would really prefer to be called, thank you very much, because who in their right mind would actually choose to go by _John Church_ ) loves his dad. He really, really does. Sure, they might not see each other that often, what with his parents having separated nearly a decade ago, but his dad’s home at least once a month, and for every holiday, big achievement, you name it.

The point being, JC loves his dad, and the two of them are not at all estranged - he just doesn't feel like they're all that close.

Honestly, Philip’s way closer with Alex (God, if JC’s mom ever found out he sometimes refers to his dad by his first name she’d _skin him alive_ ) than the rest of them, what with him going to college near DC and all. JC’s pretty sure Philip and their dad have dinner at least once a week, and he’s not quite sure if he’s jealous of his brother or if he pities him.

What JC’s trying to say is, he should have never let it slip to his mom that he felt like his relationship with his father was a little lacking, because if he hadn’t, he probably wouldn't be standing in the middle of his bedroom right now with a half-packed suitcase, about to be carted off to DC to spend two weeks at his dad’s place.

A far cry from their place in upstate New York.

And did he mention he’s going alone?

JC can think of better ways to spend his summer vacation.

“John Church Hamilton, this is the third time I’ve called you!” JC drops a pair of socks into his suitcase and winces at the sound of his mom’s voice. “Your father will be here any minute, I hope you’re ready!”

JC shoves a third black sweater and a pair of dress shoes into his suitcase, then leans down to zip it up. Or, at least, tries to zip it up, because he’s not quite succeeding. He pulls out the sweatshirt and tries again, the zipper sliding easily this time. JC stands up, then immediately kneels down again, re-opening the suitcase, taking out the dress shoes, and stuffing in the sweater. Hopefully they’re not going anywhere too fancy.

JC’s in the process of lugging his bag down the stairs when the front door flies open, revealing Alex in all of his unkempt-haired, ink-stained glory.

“Honey, I’m home! Or, not home. Second home.”

“Alexander!” JC’s mom hurries to the door, throwing her arms around his dad. “You’re actually on time - and look at you all dressed up!”

“Came right from a meeting, Eliza,” Alex says, kissing JC’s mom on the cheek, and when he steps back, JC can see that he’s wearing a suit, albeit a rumpled one. “Jefferson _again_ , God, where do I even start this time, it’s as if he doesn't even give a fu-”

“Alexander!”

“…A firetruck? A firetruck about the good of our nation.”

There’s a smile on his mom’s face as she disappears down the hallway after patting Alex on the cheek, and JC is reminded once again of how bizarre his parents’ relationship is. Honestly, if he had to explain it, JC’d describe his parents as good friends - good friends who used to be married and just happen to have kids.

He doesn't explain it often.

JC drags his suitcase down the rest of the stairs and his dad grins when he comes into view.

“John Church, as I live and breathe,” he exclaims as he pulls JC in for a hug. “You ready to hit up DC with your daddy?”

“Please don't ever say that again,” JC tells him as they pull apart, but he’s smiling. “And I told you, I go by JC now.”

“Of course, my bad. You know, when I was younger, I used to go by A. Ham. I mean, I stopped once I realized that Burr went by A. Burr, but it was nice while it lasted.” His dad tucks his hair behind his ears, then continues. “Now that I think about it, that was so _typical_ of Burr, to just _take_ my nickname like that, and then he had the audacity to claim that he’d been calling himself that for years - and then he said it wasn’t a big deal! That we could both use those handles! Jesus, what was he thinking?”

Alex turns his huge, dark eyes on him, the same eyes JC sees every time he looks in the mirror, and JC realizes he’s expecting some sort of response.

“Uh,” he begins, somewhat at a loss. His father’s Burr rants are more few and far-between than his Jefferson and Madison rants, or his Jefferson-and-Madison rants, and JC’s not sure if just saying “he’s a dick” will suffice.

Luckily he’s saved from having to answer by his mom, who swoops back in, shoving a water bottle into JC’s hand and JC’s suitcase into the hands of his father.

“Alexander, why don’t you go put this in the car. JC, honey, are you forgetting anything?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” he tells her. She smiles her warm mom-smile before leaning in and hugging him tightly. JC grimaces and hugs her back, refraining from asking whether or not it’s too late to back out pf the trip.

His mom steps out of the hug but keeps hold of his arms. “Keep an eye on him, will you?” she asks, and JC follows her line of sight out the window to see his dad removing several empty Starbucks cups from the passenger seat of his car. “He works too much, and…I worry.”

The fact that Alex works too much is, frankly, old news, but JC nods anyway, then flicks his fringe off of his forehead. It’s not nearly long enough to get in his eyes, but he does it for the gesture.

“Relax, JC,” his mom says, kissing his forehead before pushing him out the door with a bit more force than necessary. “You’ll have a good time.”

Blinking in the bright sunlight, JC definitely doesn't scowl before making his way to the car, where his dad’s waiting.

“Ready to go, pal?” Alex tosses his keys from one hand to the other, then drops them. They skid along the pavement to where they land mere millimetres away from a sewer grate.

“Fuck,” he mutters, scrambling to pick them up. “Don’t tell your mom about that.”

“She saw it happen,” JC informs him, jerking his head to where his mom is standing in the open doorway to the house. He can’t quite make out her expression, but from where he’s standing it looks nearly identical to the one she made that one time Philip tripped and fell forehead-first into the cake at Aunt Angelica’s birthday party.

Alex smiles weakly and waves to her, then hurriedly gets into the car. JC follows suit, although a bit more reluctantly.

He stares at his house in the rear-view mirror until it’s out of sight, then shifts his gaze to the road ahead, sighing.

It’s not that he doesn't want to spend time with his dad, it’s just…he’d rather not spend two weeks with his workaholic father in a city he’s never been to. Plus, if his dad’s apartment is anything like his car, there’s going to be paper and coffee cups fucking _everywhere_.

“So,” Alex says as they merge onto the freeway, taking a sip from a massive travel mug that’s plastered with post-it notes. “I was thinking. We’ll get to my place late in the afternoon, so you can unpack, get settled in, you know. We’ll eat dinner at home, since you might be tired, and then tomorrow we can start the whole tour-every-part-of-the-city, restaurants-for-every-meal tourist-y thing and all that good stuff. Sound good?”

“Uh, yeah,” JC responds. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“Awesome,” his dad says, taking another gulp of coffee. “I invited some friends over tonight - not a lot, just, do you remember my friends Lafayette and Hercules?”

JC does, in fact, remember them. Not their faces, really, but he recognizes their names from his dad’s stories and he knows when he was little and his parents were still together he called them his “uncles” - them and his dad’s one other friend, who was it -

“Yeah, I remember them. Them and…John, wasn’t it?”

Something in his dad’s face freezes for a moment, his expression staying exactly the same but becoming a little…tighter. He doesn't answer right away.

“John won’t be at h - he won't be there.” Alex coughs. “He’s actually visiting his family in South Carolina right now.”

“Oh,” JC says after a while, “okay, cool.”

He gets the feeling something’s missing, like the conversation’s been put on fast-forward and he somehow ended up missing a key word or phrase, but he can’t quite figure out what.

Alex opens his mouth to say something but he’s cut off by the sound of his phone ringing.

“Can you get that and put it on speaker?”

JC grabs his dad’s phone, which is playing a recording of what sounds like an awful homemade rap, and presses speakerphone.

 _“Hamilton,”_ says a vaguely familiar voice, and Alex nearly drops his coffee.

“Washington, sir,” he replies, carefully setting his mug in the cupholder. “How are you doing this fine summer morn-”

 _“Cut it out, Hamilton,”_ says the actual fucking president of the United States. _“I heard about your impromptu ‘meeting’ with Secretary Jefferson earlier this morning.”_

“Ah, you heard about that, did you?” Alex runs a sheepish hand through his hair. “Great meeting. Really productive. In fact, I feel like he’s almost on board with my national debt plan now. Or, at least, almost not against it. Kind of. A little.”

 _“Is that so?”_ President Washington’s voice sounds more exasperated than angry, and holy shit JC still can’t believe the president is on the phone right now. He fights the urge to say something just so he can tell people he talked to the president. _“Is that why it was held at 5 in the morning with only four participants? Oh, and that these four participants were yourself, Secretary Jefferson, and Senators Madison and Laurens?”_

“Well, sir, originally it was just going to be Jefferson and I, but you and I both know that Jefferson doesn't go anywhere without Madison, and John - sorry, Laurens - wouldn't let me go alone, and really, the early hour was just so that Laurens could catch his flight and so that I could leave to go pick up my son on time.”

There’s silence on the other end, and then JC hears what he thinks is a sigh. _“Is your son with you right now?”_

“Yes, sir.”

_“Go spend time with your family, Alexander,”_ says President Washington who is apparently on first-name basis with JC’s father. Will wonders never fucking cease. _“We’ll discuss this when you get back.”_

There’s a beep to signal the end of the call, and Alex just picks up his coffee again as if he didn't just have a casual conversation with the president of the USA.

“Dad.”

“Hm?”

“You’re on first-name basis with the _president_?”

His dad looks over, genuinely surprised. “Well, yeah. You know I’m the Secretary of Treasury.”

So there’s the other thing. JC _knows_ his dad works for the government, at the Whitehouse, but he’s always just figured it was some boring financial job, and not a national-debt-plan-creating, going-behind-the-president’s-back-to-schedule-personal-cabinet-meetings kind of job.

“Uh, of course,” he says hastily. He’s dying to ask more but isn't sure how to do so without making it clear that he’s tuned out basically all past conversations about his dad’s boring (but, he guesses now, maybe not that boring) career that is, in all honestly, is his dad’s entire life.

Alex sets down his coffee once more and JC takes the opportunity to take a peek at some of the post-its, which are all neon pink and crowded with his dad’s horrendous handwriting.

 _Pick up John C 11am_ , one reads, and right below it, _John L airport 6am_ , which must refer to John Laurens. There’s one all in caps that reads _CLEAN APARTMENT_ , and JC can’t help but smile a little at that one.

The rest are all illegible or some sort of political jargon, and JC pulls out his phone to see three missed texts, all from Kaitlin.

**Kaity *cat emoji*  
JC**

**Kaity *cat emoji*  
J C**

**Kaity *cat emoji*  
you're leaving today WITHOUT ME**

He smiles for real this time and quickly types out a response.

**JCH  
yeah, sorry :(**

**JCH  
if it makes you feel any better id rather not be going**

He glances up guiltily after sending that one, but his dad’s too occupied with fiddling with the radio to notice.

**Kaity *cat emoji*  
aw, why? id kill to spend two weeks in dc**

JC chews on his lip for a moment before replying.

**JCH  
two weeks one-on-one w my dad and were not that close**

**JCH  
like i love him and all but tbh im not that hyped**

**Kaity *cat emoji*  
strength!! you’ll have a good time :)**

**Kaity *cat emoji*  
ill miss you!!**

“Who’s got you all smiley?” Alex asks, and if he hadn’t said that whole “DC with your daddy” thing earlier, it would easily be the most dad-esque thing he’s said all day.

“Uh,” JC says, thinking quickly, “memes.”

Memes. What the fuck? Still, it’s better than “I’m texting this girl that I kind of like and I think she kind of likes me back but I can’t do anything about it because I’m a fifteen-year-old baby,” he supposes.

Alex, to his credit, doesn’t miss a beat. “God, I fucking love memes. Actually, that gives me an idea for my Twitter header…”

He continues talking idly, but it’s mostly to himself, if the words “Jefferson,” “baguettes,” and “fuchsia” have anything to do with it, and JC waits a couple minutes before unlocking his phone and quickly responding.

**JCH  
ill miss you too!**

He almost does something stupid like adding a heart emoji, but luckily he hits _send_ before he can do so.

After about three hours of driving, JC’s getting serious hunger pains.

“Hey, dad, can we get some food or something?”

His dad looks over at him, eyebrows raised as if surprised by the request.

“I mean, it’s like 2pm,” JC continues, “and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

His dad chuckles. “Honestly, half the time I forget to even e-”

A somewhat awkward silence ensues during which JC’s pretty sure he knows exactly what his dad was going to say, but also kind of hopes his assumptions are wrong.

“I mean, uh, I could probably use some more coffee, anyway. What are you feeling?”

It doesn’t slip past JC’s notice that, once they’ve stopped, coffee is the only thing his dad orders.

*

As his dad had predicted, they arrive in DC in the late afternoon. They take what Alex calls the “scenic route” to the apartment, although they spend a good twenty minutes parked outside of the Whitehouse while Alex argues with himself over whether or not he left his laptop in his office.

“Chill, dad,” JC says after a while. “We’re here, just run in and check if it’s there.”

“No,” Alex responds, as if that settles it, and shifts the car into drive. “I brought it home, I know I did.”

What JC doesn't say is that his dad shouldn't be worried about working while his son is visiting, but he keeps his mouth shut.

They pull up in front of an average-looking apartment building about ten minutes later, and Alex steps out of the car and pops the trunk to haul out JC’s suitcase.

“Home sweet home,” he announces as they make their way inside.

JC’s not sure what he expected from his dad’s apartment - an explosion of books and papers, graffiti’d portraits of Republicans, maybe a shrine to Washington - but it certainly wasn't this. The apartment is completely and utterly spotless. The countertops gleam, the desk is devoid of paperwork, and even the books are lined up on the shelves in - is that alphabetical order?

“Wow,” he can’t help but say. “Dad, I’m _impressed_.”

And his dad fucking _blushes_.

“It’s never like this,” he confesses. “Like, ever. We spent literal hours cleaning last night.”

JC vaguely wonders who “we” refers to, but he’s too busy marvelling over the fact that he can see his reflection in the hardwood floor to ask.

“So, quick tour,” his dad’s saying, stepping further into the apartment. “Kitchen’s here, living area or whatever you want to call it is here, bathroom’s over there, my room’s right there, and you’ll be sleeping in the guest room, which is…here.”

He opens the door to the guest room with a flourish to reveal an average-sized room with a desk and double bed, complete with a window through which there’s an impressive view of the DC skyline.

“Thought you’d like the view,” Alex says with a smile as he follows JC’s gaze. “Go ahead and get yourself unpacked if you want, Laf and Herc should be here in about two hours.”

As soon as he’s alone, JC pulls out his phone again. He pretends his heart doesn't sink a little when there’s no text from Kaitlin.

Unpacking takes about all of ten minutes, but JC’s not quite ready to come out yet, so he flops down on the bed and shoots off a text to his mom.

**Johnny  
Made it to DC! Just finished unpacking**

Her response comes quickly.

**Mom <3  
Glad to hear it! Have fun, honey :)**

JC smiles, and then definitely doesn't spend the next several minutes composing and deleting messages to Kaitlin.

He’s about to hit _send_ on a particularly sappy (and therefore risky) text when there’s the sound of yelling from down the hall, and JC nearly drops his phone. He deletes the message and ventures into the kitchen to see what’s going on.

What he sees is two very tall, very loud men laden with grocery bags elbowing his dad to the side and shouting over each other.

“Where is he, Alexander?” one of them shouts, and wow, that’s quite the accent.

“He _is_ here, isn't he?” asks the broader one, sounding genuinely concerned. “You didn't forget to go get him, did you?”

“Relax you guys, he’s literally right there.” JC’s dad points directly at him, and the two men whirl around and drop their bags in unison.

JC barely has time to open his mouth before he’s swept into the tightest, most overwhelming group hug he’s ever experienced.

From where he’s currently being crushed between one exceptionally wide chest and one that’s less wide but equally suffocating, JC can hear what he thinks might be French.

_“Putain, je l’aime déjà!”_

JC chose Spanish over French in school, so he has next to no idea what’s just been said, but he hopes it’s something good.

The hug’s been going on for well over ten seconds now, and JC’s honestly never felt more uncomfortable.

“A little help, dad?” he chokes out, and he’s promptly dropped.

“He speaks!” the non-French man exclaims. JC stumbles back a few steps to get a better look at the two men, who look positively ecstatic.

“You guys, this is my son John Church, or JC,” Alex says, finally intervening. He looks somewhat amused.

The larger of the two strangers steps forward and offers his hand to JC, and _holy shit_ his shoulders are as broad as JC’s dad is tall.

“Hercules Mulligan, at your service,” he says, hand completely enveloping JC’s own.

JC nods, unsure of what to say since he’s already been introduced. He’s saved from having to respond by the man who he assumes is Lafayette, who shoves Hercules out of the way to offer his own hand to JC.

Probably-Lafayette then opens his mouth and utters the single longest, most French-sounding name JC’s ever heard. The only single name he picks up is “Lafayette,” and did he hear the title “marquis” in there somewhere?

His expression must reflect his confusion, because the man laughs and shakes JC’s hand vigorously.

“You can just call me Lafayette, or Laf,” he says, and JC nods again, relieved.

“Hey, if you’re on nickname basis with Alex’s kid, then so am I,” Hercules pipes up, slapping Laf on the arm. “Call me Herc,” he tells JC, who nods for the third time.

“What are you guys doing here a good,” Alex glances up at the clock on the wall, “hour and a half early? I haven't even showered yet, and believe me, I need it. It’s been a couple days.”

So that’s why his hair had looked so…particularly shiny this morning.

Apparently this is not news to his dad’s friends, as they look nowhere as disgusted as JC feels.

“We,” Hercules - Herc - begins, picking up a couple of the dropped grocery bags, “are here to cook dinner so you don’t end up poisoning your son.”

“I’m now _that_ bad of a cook - ow!” Alex rubs his shoulder where Laf’s just hit him with another grocery bag.

“Go take your shower, Alexander, and leave the cooking to us.”

Alex looks as if he’s going to argue, then shrugs. “Fine. But no traumatizing my son while I’m gone.”

He shoots a significant look at his two friends before disappearing down the hall, and JC can’t help but wonder just what they might do that could be classified as “traumatizing.”

Laf and Herc have migrated into the kitchen, where they’re unloading their bags, and JC hesitates. Does he follow them and try to help, even though he’s as shit at cooking as his dad apparently is? Should he try to strike up a conversation? Go back to his room?

Herc catches his eye from where he’s preheating the oven and beckons him over. JC hesitates for a moment longer, then takes a seat on one of the stools by the counter.

“So,” Herc says as he pulls out a tray of some sort, “how did you get the misfortune of being stuck with your dad-”

“And the good fortune of being stuck with us,” Laf cuts in, opening up a can of tomato sauce.

“And the good fortune of being stuck with us,” Herc concedes, “for two weeks of your fine summer vacation?”

JC doesn't answer right away. He doesn't want to be _too_ honest and risk offending his dad’s friends, but he’s not about to lie to their faces, either.

“We’re - I don’t know, I mean - yeah, I see my dad at least once a month, but he’s always the one that visits us, not the other way around, so I’ve never actually been…here. Plus, when he visits, it’s not like we ever spend a lot of time one-on-one, so, I don't know,” he finishes lamely.

“You do not feel close to him,” Laf supplies, and JC inclines his head.

“Yeah, that. Like, I’m pretty sure that we’ve spent more time one-on-one today than we have in - years, really.”

“And you find that upsetting because he’s your dad?” Herc offers.

JC chews on that for a minute. He’d never have put it as “upsetting” himself, but now that it’s been said he finds it to be true.

“Yeah,” he says after a while. “You’re right.”

Laf sets down the cheese he’s grating - it’s now clear that they’re making lasagna - and looks JC in the eye.

“JC,” he says, his accent turning the J a little soft, but JC doesn't mind. “I know that you do not know us very well anymore, and I know that our Alexander can be…what is it-”

“Forgetful?” Hercules suggests, and Laf points to him.

“Yes, that. And also…”

“Obsessive?”

“Yes, obsessive. And his…way of thinking is often-”

“Hard to follow?”

“Yes! But despite all of this, JC, it is very, _very_ clear to us that your father loves you very much.”

Somewhat startled by the sincerity of the declaration, JC looks up to meet Laf’s earnest gaze.

“I - okay,” he stammers out. “Um, thank you.”

“Look, you’ve made him uncomfortable,” Herc chides, stirring ground beef that JC hadn’t even realized is on the stove. “He’s always this honest,” he continues, addressing JC. “I blame the language barrier.”

JC laughs, a little awkwardly, and casts about for something to say.

“So,” he ends up saying, “ do either of you guys have kids?”

Herc and Laf exchange a glance and then burst into laughter.

JC feels his face heat up, although he’s not exactly sure why.

After several moments during which JC grows increasingly uneasy, their laughter dies down.

“Sorry,” Herc says, wiping actual tears from his eyes, “sorry, sorry. I forgot you don't know us that well.”

“So…I’m guessing that’s a no then?”

“Yes, that is a no,” Laf says, still chuckling a little. “I am…how do you say…not straight. Well, a little bit straight. But not very much. Maybe ten percent straight, but no more than that. Perhaps I will have children someday, but not now.”

“Ah,” JC says, not sure how to respond. “And you?” He turns to Herc, who shrugs his massive shoulders.

“I guess I don’t really have an excuse, other than it’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship, and I’m too lazy to put myself out there.”

“You should get a Tinder account,” JC says before he can stop himself, and to his surprise Laf’s eyes light up.

“Yes!” he exclaims. “I have been telling him this for months! Hercules, if Alexander’s son agrees with me it must be a sign!”

“Okay, first off, if Alex’s son’s judgment is anything _at all_ like his old man’s, we should _not_ trust it. And secondly, I’m not getting Tinder.”

Laf pouts and Herc rolls his eyes, lining the bottom of the lasagna tray with sauce. “How about yourself, JC?”

“What about me? I don't have a Tinder account, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Herc chuckles. “No, I mean, any love life to speak of?”

“I’m only fifteen,” JC hedges, but he can feel his ears turning red.

“That does not mean that there aren’t any special girls,” Laf teases, eyes twinkling.

“Or boys,” Herc adds.

“Or non-gender conforming individuals,” Laf finishes.

“So?” Herc presses, grinning widely at JC, who averts his eyes.

“Well, there is this one girl,” he mumbles to the countertop, and he hears two delighted gasps.

“And does this girl have a name?”

JC glances around to make sure that his dad hasn’t silently appeared while he wasn't looking, and Laf waves a hand.

“He won’t be out any time soon. He considers showers a waste of time when there is work to do, but since you’re here he will probably shower like a normal member of society.”

“You were saying?” Herc prompts as Laf slides the finished lasagna in the oven, and the heat comes back to JC’s ears.

“Kaitlin,” he mutters, addressing the counter again.

Laf and Herc exchange twin looks of glee.

“How do you know her?”

“Is she cute?”

“Does she have Facebook? I’ll look her up.”

“Yes! What’s her last name?”

“No, she doesn't have Facebook,” JC lies blatantly, “and even if she did I wouldn't let you look her up!”

“Damn,” Hercules grumbles, as Laf spits out some word JC can’t identify.

“And I know her from school. We’re in the same bio class.”

“A woman of science!” Hercules gasps, hand over his heart. “Amazing. Is she cute?”

“Is who cute?”

JC whirls around to see his dad standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hair wet and suit replaced by jeans and a sweatshirt.

“Uh,” JC starts, but he’s rescued by Lafayette, who runs over to Alex and picks him up like he weighs nothing.

“You, of course, Alexander! You’re too small for your own good, mon chouchou.”

“Put me down!” Alex yelps, pounding Laf’s chest with his fists. “And I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What does that mean?” JC queries, shamelessly amused by his dad’s misfortune.

“Something weird and French-y,” Herc answers, grabbing Alex by the legs and flinging him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“You guys, oh my God, humiliating me in front of my own son! I need new friends.”

“But you’re just so _little_ and _adorable_ ,” Laf cries. “In fact, I think your son is taller than you.” He turns and studies JC, eyes squinted in concentration. “How tall are you?”

“Five-eight and a half,” he answers truthfully, and Herc nearly drops Alex. 

“Holy shit. Kid, your dad’s just _barely_ five-seven. Hear that, Alex? Your _fifteen-year-old son_ is taller than you!”

“Yes, I heard,” JC’s dad grouses from where he’s still hanging over Herc’s shoulder. “Thank you for that, all of you. Now would you mind putting me down?”

Hercules sets him down and smirks at Laf, who grabs the lasagna and slides in in the oven, waggling his eyebrows at JC.

"So," Alex says, glaring at his friends, "I was thinking we could just do a movie night? And no, that does _not_ mean a Les Mis night.”

This last part is directed at Lafayette, who crosses his arms and pouts. "I do not understand how you do not like it. And besides, it's more than a movie, it is…art."

"I wouldn't mind watching Les Mis," JC says honestly, because he might not be the biggest musical guy, but hey, it's a decent movie. 

"Absolutely not," Hercules decrees, reaching under his apron (where had that come from?) to pull out a DVD (where did _that_ come from?). "Luckily, I came prepared. Totally not illegally burned copy of Mean Girls right here.”

"Who even uses DVDs anymore?" Alex teases, reaching up to grab the disc from where Herc is waving it in the air. It doesn’t escape JC’s attention that he has to stand on his tip toes to do so. 

"Who even watches Mean Girls anymore?" JC wants to know, and he receives three horrified gasps in response. 

 _"Non, c'est un blague!"_ Laf cries, running his hands down the sides of his face. 

"We changed our minds, Alex, your kid's not cool," Herc informs JC's father sadly. Alex, to his credit, looks indignant enough.   
"Ignore them," he tells JC conspiratorially, "they like to be dramatic because they don't have anything better to do with their lonely single lives." JC graciously doesn't mention that, to his knowledge, his dad is single too. "Mean Girls is kind of a thing with our group. A thing meaning that we don't even like it that much anymore but we watch it anyway because it's a ‘tradition.'"

JC still doesn't quite understand, but he nods as if he does. 

He ends up wedged between Laf and Herc on his dad's couch, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a tad claustrophobic - it’s not a very big couch and Hercules is a very big man, and Laf isn't the smallest guy either. 

Alex is the last one to get to the couch and he heaves a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. 

"I suppose I'll take the floor," he laments, because apparently he's cheap and only has one piece of furniture in front of the TV. (JC did not get the cheap genes and has thirty-four phone cases to show for it. He only ever uses three of them.)

"Yo, sit on my lap, Alex," Hercules beckons, and it turns out he's serious because he reaches out and pulls JC's dad literally on top of him. This must be a normal thing because Lafayette doesn't bat an eyelash. JC gives himself a couple seconds to be weirded out, then (somewhat) lets it go. 

He's shamed a couple times throughout the movie for not knowing key lines ("Alex, how does your kid not know 'is your muffin buttered?'" "Shut up, Herc, he's too innocent to know that one." "I'm not that innocent, dad." "How has your mother been _raising_ you?"), but for the most part he doesn't mind. He keeps mostly quiet throughout their commentary, hesitancy to speak stemming from both the facts that he still doesn't really know these guys, and that he's in the company of three men who have decades on him, one of which is his _father_. 

He ends up enjoying himself though, and when the lasagna's done cooking they eat it on plates in front of the TV while the credits roll. 

"What next - how the fuck did Les Mis get playing?”

JC looks up to see a close-up of Hugh Jackman's filthy face on the screen. There's a cackle from his right, where Laf is holding his hands up in a gesture of innocence. 

"I did nothing," he says, but there's a shit-eating grin on his face and he lets loose with another cackle. 

"You fucking burned it on the same disc - _after_ I burned Mean Girls?" Herc's voice is a mixture of fury and admiration. 

"You brilliant fucker," Alex says from where he's sitting half on Hercules, half on the arm of the couch. "But I'm over it. Who wants ice cream?”

They end up all eating from the same carton of ice cream because there are no clean bowls, Herc and Laf sharing a spoon because apparently JC's dad only owns three spoons. 

"No clean bowls? Three fucking spoons? I thought that maybe having John h-" Lafayette coughs. "Sorry. That was...not the right word. I thought that John...talked to you about this.”

Language barrier or not, that was definitely not what he was going to say, and all four of them seem to know it. No one comments, though. 

"Yeah, I'll do the dishes. Eventually. We’ll see about the spoon thing.” Alex doesn't sound too concerned, but his voice is a little tight, anyway. There's a loaded silence. JC has honestly no clue what's going on, but his dad looks more than a little uncomfortable, so, without thinking, JC opens his mouth and belts out the first lines of _I Dreamed a Dream_ right along with Anne Hathaway. 

The response is instantaneous and exactly what he was looking for. Lafayette looks thrilled, Alex surprised, and Hercules lets out a booming full-body laugh that nearly sends Alex toppling off the couch. 

JC's face burns but he keeps going, even when his voice breaks on every fourth word or so. The things he does for his dad. 

Eventually the three men join in, and the four of them sing in unison, not one of them reaching the high notes. 

For a moment, JC can't remember why he was so reluctant to visit in the first place. 

*

JC wakes up to the sound of hushed voices. He's stretched out alone on the couch, a blanket draped over him. He vaguely remembers falling asleep at some point during the movie, but the TV's off now, the room dark and silent. 

 _"Dis-lui, Alexandre, je t'en prie."_ Lafayette's speaking somewhere off to JC's right. 

 _"Je sais, je sais, mais...j'ai pas envie. Fin, c'est pas ça. Honnêtement, j'ai peur."_ JC's dad doesn't speak French around him too often, and JC's mildly surprised  every time he does. This time, though, his voice sounds different. Strained. Desperate. _"Il va me demander les questions que j'arrive pas à répondre.”_

JC opens his eyes and leans off of the couch a little. There's a light coming from near the kitchen, illuminating the silhouette of Alex sitting at his desk, Lafayette bending over him. It's too dark to make out their faces. 

 _"Alexandre,"_ Lafayette says, voice gentle, and damn JC wishes he could understand them, because his dad’s name is the only thing he’s picked up so far. _"C'est ton fils. C'est un garçon très sympa. Il faut pas avoir peur.”_

There's a long silence. 

 _"Je sais,"_ Alex repeats after a while. _"Je sais. C'est juste un truc…difficile à discuter, surtout avec mon fils.”_

From his vantage point JC can make out Lafayette putting a hand on Alex's shoulder and squeezing. Alex sighs, which ends up turning into a yawn. 

"What are you doing here at your desk, anyway? Your son is here, you shouldn't be working.”

Lafayette’s change of language and, as far as JC can tell, topic, is a sharp reminder that technically, he's eavesdropping, even if he didn't understand a word of their conversation. 

"He's asleep. And until half an hour ago, you were too. Plus, Herc left, so what else was I supposed to do?”

"Uh, sleep?”

There's a beat, and then they both laugh at something that JC’s clearly missed. 

"But seriously, Alexander," Lafayette insists after their laughter dies down. "It's late. You and I both know that you have not slept in at least 36 hours. There's no work to be done.”

"Well, actually-”

“Alexander."

“Fine."

Alex stands up and turns toward JC, who hurriedly shuts his eyes, feigning sleep. 

"I feel guilty just leaving him there on the couch.”

"Would it be an insult to your minuscule size and enormous ego if I carried him to his room for you?" Lafayette offers seriously. JC has to stop himself from smirking just in case they're watching. 

"A little," is Alex's response. "But I suppose I'll allow it.”

JC does his best to let himself go limp as he's lifted off of the couch and carried to his room. Once he's deposited on the bed JC feels his dad gently brush the hair off of his forehead before leaving the room. 

As he drifts back to sleep his mind wanders, piecing together fragments of his mom's halfhearted attempts to teach him French as a child before giving up after realizing he wasn't quite as eager to learn as Philip had been. 

 _"Mon fils,"_ he hears her calling him, and her voice is echoed by his father's from not ten minutes ago.

_"Mon fils.”_

"My son.”

Alex and Lafayette had been talking about him. And it hadn't been too lighthearted of a conversation. 

**Author's Note:**

> So anyway I hope you all liked this! I'm both busy and lazy so I have no clue what my updates will be like, sorry.
> 
> Translations: (remember that some French words and phrases are colloquialisms, so not all of these translations are direct or literal)  
> “Putain, je l’aime déjà!” - "Fuck, I love him already!"  
> "Non, c'est un blague!” - "You're kidding me!" (Literally "no, it's a joke!")  
> "Dis-lui, Alexandre, je t'en prie." - "Tell him, Alexander, I'm begging you."  
> "Je sais, je sais, mais...j'ai pas envie. Fin, c'est pas ça. Honnêtement, j'ai peur." - "I know, I know, but...I don't want to. No, that's not it. Honestly, I'm scared to."  
> "Il va me demander les questions que j'arrive pas à répondre.” - "He's going to ask me questions that I can't answer."  
> "C'est ton fils. C'est un garçon très sympa. Il faut pas avoir peur.” - "He's your son. He's a nice boy. You don't need to be scared."  
> "Je sais. C'est juste un truc…difficile à discuter, surtout avec mon fils.” - "I know. It's just something...difficult to discuss, especially with my son."
> 
> Leave comments if you're feeling it!
> 
> Ily


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